


Clack

by Iocane



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor has non-standard genitalia, M/M, Pining, Specifically he has an abacus for a dick, but I refuse to apologize, clackfic, crackfic, i have absolutely no excuse for this, it's noisy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 10:24:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17242547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iocane/pseuds/Iocane
Summary: Because humans are fucked up little cretins, someone at CyberLife decided it would be funny to give Connor an abacus for a dick.





	Clack

**Author's Note:**

> The origin of this travisty went something like this. I was writing smut at 3 am, as one does.
> 
> Human guys sometimes refer to their dicks as junior, including Hank.  
> My brain said 'junior - younger/earlier version of'  
> younger/earlier version of an android  
> robot  
> computer  
> adding machine  
> and on down the line until I get to abacus.
> 
> I mentioned this to the lovely folks of the Hannor Haven discord server and ... *gestures vaguely at the following fic*
> 
> Like I said in the tags, I have no excuse but I will not apologize. 
> 
> There's a, uhm, kind of visual at the bottom, if the description in the fic doesn't ... uhm, make sense.

Connor didn't know why he'd been equipped as he had, and with the complete wipe of all CyberLife File and backups, he'd never find out.  Probably some moron's idea of a joke.

It wasn't a problem. It wasn't like Connor needed to use it.  It didn't  _ do  _ anything except lie there and fill out his underwear.  

While it was technically connected to the rest of his semi-automatic human mimicry systems, it was functionless, useless, entirely inert.

Until it wasn't.

He'd been aware of the first slight shiftings after everything was over, and he was in Hank's arms.

Not, Connor reminded himself, that he'd been 'in his arms' in the romantic sense.  Just a hug, his first, following a nod of approval and a smile from the human whose opinion mattered the most.

After that, Hank's house became Connor's home.  

There were a few more stirrings, a shift of a bead when Hank squeezed his shoulder.  A few small movements at a smile. 

In the evening, Connor experimented after Hank went to bed.  Pants down around his thighs, reaching down to fondle what CyberLife saw fit to give him.

A dozen thin bars over eight inches long, with a heavier stabilizing bar wrapped around them two inches from the top.  Above that thicker bar bar, the tips were drawn in creating a tall, doorless birdcage like effect. An effect that was ruined by the series of beads fitted onto each of the thin bars, ten below and two above the thicker bar.

Thankfully the engineers had somehow fixed it that the beads didn't move merely on contact, or the soft clacking sound of the beads motion would have given him away before now.  He could also move them himself, of course.

When he moved them himself, it was a pleasant enough sensation, and he quickly made an important discovery.  The upper set of beads were far more sensitive, for want of a better word, than the lower ones. A gentle flick of two of them from the bottom to the top of their small confine of wire had Connor gasping softly at the wash of sensation.  When they slid back in place, he felt the lingering pleasure but the active sensations returned to normal.

Unfortunately, they hadn't thought, or hadn't considered it necessary to similarly inhibit their motion during arousal.

The first few stirrings he'd been able to ignore easily enough, though the beads didn't always return to their natural resting position and sometimes required manual realignment, which was its own problem.  He wondered what Hank thought when Connor had to occasionally duck into the bathroom to adjust himself, when subtle external attempt didn't work.

The real problem began about a week after the post revolution dust began to settle.  

Connor was chasing a suspect, and he'd doubled back, probably trying to confuse the android, but instead leading him right to Hank.  The last time Hank and a suspect tangled, Connor had been forced to let the android escape to save his partner.

This suspect was human, which may have made the difference.  The man had barreled straight into Hank, haymaker ready to fly.  Hank had grabbed his arm, stepped just so, and twisted, resulting in a sharp howl, and a face-down suspect with Hank's knee in his back.

A distinct clacking sound came from Connor's pants and he felt his cheeks go blue for a moment.  He could feel the beads shifting around, sliding one and two at a time towards the rounded tip.

That night, Connor learned that while one or two beads going up - or even a dozen or more - was nice, it was when they went rapidly up and down that was really,  _ really _ nice.

He didn't realize how noisy it was to human ears until a few days later. Every evening he'd waited until Hank was well asleep to begin his explorations.  He slid his beads around slowly, quickly, one or two rows at a time, wrapping his whole hand around and managing to stroke each row.

Earlier that day, Hank had stretched.  It wasn't even anything special, but he'd pushed back from his desk after some hours and stood.  Arms drawn up, he'd stretched, leaning back, and let out this low, rumbly, almost growly  _ sound _ that Connor couldn't place.

"Fuck me is that my back?" Hank had grumbled when Connor's clacking had been audible.  "Getin' too fuckin' old for this job."

Connor hadn't managed to reset his beading all afternoon, not even once they got home, between walking Sumo and making dinner.  So tonight, once Hank closed the bedroom door, Connor pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, shoved a hand down his pants and began to fiddle with his beads.

He almost didn't hear the bedroom door opening.  "Connor do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"  Connor tried not to sound breathless, hoping the dim light of his LED wasn't enough to reveal the lump his hand was forming in the covers.

"Like a rattle?  Must be the pipes," Hank grumbled and went back to bed.

Connor listened for the creak of Hank going back to bed, giving his beads a slow fondle, letting the anticipation build silently.  Finally Hank began to snore, and this time Connor was more aware of the sound.

_ Clackclack, clack, clackity, clackclack, clack, clack clack clack, clacklclackclackclackclackclackclackCLACKCLACK _ **_CLACK!_ **

Finally he lay panting softly, his beads slowly returning to their neutral positions.  A wave of pleasure still made its way through his awareness, making him wiggle slightly down into his covers.

It got much worse after that.

"Thanks Con," Hank in his boxers and nothing else, voice rough with sleep as he took the coffee.

_ Clackity clack. _

Hank crouching to pet Sumo's scruff, stretching his jeans across his ass.

_ Clackity clack clack. _

"Ohh, that was great, Con," after a delicious meal.

_ Clickityclicky clack clack. _

Try as he might, Connor could not turn off his automatic responses.  And there was absolutely no way he was going to present himself to Jericho and ask for a solution.

Connor had hoped that except for that one frustrating night, his embarrassment had gone unnoticed.

"Con, can you look into the walls?" Hank asked one evening, robe open to a bare chest, Connor getting a very good look at the large tattoo covering it.  Wondering what it felt like under his fingers.  _ Clackity clack. _ "That! That fucking noise, can you see if there's anything up with the pipes or ... a rat or somefucking thing?"

"I-I can check.  How often have you been hearing it?"

Hank gave him a suspicious look at that.  "Are you telling me you haven't been* hearing it?"

"No! No I'm-I can hear it, I just ... how often is it ... intrusive?" Connor began to look around the room, putting his scanning face on, flicking his LED yellow as he pretended to peer through the walls of the house.

"Starting to hear it in my sleep, Con.  The other day I heard it in the car."

Connor remembered that moment.  A long case, they'd finally gone by the chicken feed for a late lunch or early dinner.  Hank had been eating much better so Connor didn't argue with him about his choice. Hank's moan at his first bite of greasy burger in some weeks had been loud enough, Connor thought, to drown out the considerable clacking noise the sound had provoked

Obviously, he had been wrong.

"I'll give the house a thorough inspection, Hank," Connor promised, knowing it would turn up nothing.

"Alright.  Thanks, Con," He gave Connor a firm, lingering squeeze of his shoulder.

_ Clack. _

He skipped his nightly entertainment that evening, if it was bothering  Hank even in his sleep.

He held off until Hank was in the shower the following morning.

_ Clack. Clackclack.  Clackityclackityclackclackclack clack clack clack clack- _ Connor froze when he thought he heard the bathroom door open but it closed a moment later and he could hear Hank muttering in the shower.   _ Clackclackclackclackclackclack clack clack clackityclackityclackityCLACK _ **_CLACKCLACK!_ **

Connor was still flushed when Hank emerged but he didn't seem to notice.  "Can you help me remember I gotta call a plumber?"

"About that ... rattle?"

"Heard it when I was in the shower."

"I'll make an appointment," he promised.

The next few weeks are miserable for Connor.  Everything Hank-related seemed to set off a predictable reaction.

Hand to the shoulder at work.

_ Clackclack. _

"Good job, Con," after chasing down a suspect.

_ Clackity clack. _

A gentle hip check while they worked on a meal together.

_ Clackclackclackity clack. _

When bullets flew and Connor found himself pushed up against a wall by Hank, he prayed the resulting series of clicks and clacks would be dismissed as gunfire and ricochet.

"Fuck, that sounds getting into my head," Hank breathed as he relaxed, the gunfire stopping after a well placed shot from one of the other officers on scene.

It was all Connor could do not to whine.

When Connor realized their case was leading to a road trip, he knew he was probably  going go die of embarrassment. Hank was not stupid, he would make the connection that last that the only common factor in all occurrences of 'that fucking noise' was Connor himself.

So when it came time to check into a hotel, of *course* there was only one room available.  And as luck would have it, the singular available room was equipped only with a double bed. The clerk didn't seem to understand their annoyance.  "Not like he has to sleep," he'd growled with a nod at Connor.

"He has a point, Hank," Connor said as Hank shoved the key - an honest to god metal key - into the lock of the ancient hotel room door.

"Fuck his point, would serve his ass right if you sued for discrimination." Hank dropped his suitcase on the dresser and rolled his shoulders.

Fearing what was to happen, Connor tried to cover the sound by flipping on the bathroom light.  _ Clack. _

It was getting exceedingly embarrassing just how easily and intensely Hank's presence affected him.  Thankfully, after a long drive, Hank was content to order pizza so at least Connor wasn't clacking his way around in public.

The pipes of the old hotel were loud and thumped on their own so when Hank took his shower, Connor took his chance.

_ Clackclackclackclackclackclack clack clack clack clack. _

Keeping his ears peeled for any sign of Hank finishing his shower early, Connor began to realize the cadence of Hank's breathing was unsteady.  Apart from that, however, there was a steady, rhythmic sound coming from the bathroom. A low groan from Hank as the sound sped up had Connor working even faster.

_ Clackclackclack clack clack clack clack clack clackityclackityclackity. _

Connor imagined Hank in the dingy hotel bathroom.  One strong arm against the shower wall.

_ Clackityclackityclackity CLACK CLACK! _

Other large hand wrapped around a dick Connor knew to be on the large side for humans.

_ ClackityClackityclackityclack clack clack clack clack clack clack clack. _

Handsome face flushed, water dripping from soft silver hair as he groaned his way towards release.

_ Clackityclack  _ **_CLACK_ ** _ clackclackclackclackCLACKCLA- _

"Connor!"

Connor's eyes snapped open, hand stopping instantly, causing at least one bead to slide back into place.   _ Clack. _

"Is that noise-Are you?" Hank was dripping, towel wrapped around his hips, held in place, not even knotted.

"It's nothing, Hank," Connor knew he was flushed, on the edge of release as he was.  When he tried to remove his hand, his beads shifted and a shameful clacking filled the air.

Connor was saved from actually having to explain by Hank stepping forward and grabbing the covers Connor was under and yanking them away.

To Connor's infinite relief, Hank was more understanding - and remarkably more adventurous - than Connor had given him credit for.  That night, clacking mixed with the squeak of bedsprings and the kock of a headboard on the wall.

Now that Hank knew, and was more than willing to help ease any clack-related issues, it seemed to settle Connor's beads and he wan't as noisy in public anymore.

So a week later in the bullpen when they both became aware of a very specific, if quiet, sound, they exchanged looks.  A raised eyebrow and a glance at Connor's lap was greeted with a subtle shake of his head.

Another burst of rattles and they both turned towards Gavin's desk.  He was finishing up what looked like an untidy meal, and licking his fingers clean.

Seated beside his desk, brows knit more than usual was Nines, and Connor could see the direction of his apparently neutral gaze.

When Gavin sucked a fingertip, a soft clacking accompanied it.

**Author's Note:**

> Like this, but with the top bit curved in to make more of a dicklike shape. Also in a general ... dick shape and proportion.


End file.
